


Give Me a Thought on Christmas

by chochowilliams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, M/M, Mentioned Infidelity, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, mature language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chochowilliams/pseuds/chochowilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas and Harry is alone, for which he has nobody to blame but himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me a Thought on Christmas

**Give Me a Thought on Christmas**  
 **One-Shot**  
 **Written by:** chochowilliams  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harry Potter_ or the characters, places or names. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.  
 **Summary:** It’s Christmas and Harry is alone, for which he has nobody to blame but himself.  
 **Warning:** AU/Non-epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Angst, Drama, Romance, implied-Infidelity  
 **Pairings:** Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, mentions of: Draco Malfoy/Astoria Greengrass, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Molly Prewitt Weasley/Arthur Weasley, George Weasley/Angelina Johnson, Percy Weasley/Audrey, Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour  
 **A/N:**  As I am American, please use the poor usage of British slang. Information about the marital lives of the HP characters are taken from: <http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Main_Page>

 

* * *

 

With hands laced behind his head, Harry stared up at the ceiling above the bed. A thin crack ran from one end of the room to the other, ending in a series of forked out branches. It vaguely resembled a broom. He had a brief though to make a mental note to have the crack looked at, but it was here and gone faster than a passing fancy.

Sighing, Harry dropped his hands and sat up. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hanging inches above the floor, Harry stared unseeingly at a dark patch on the floor that remained despite numerous attempts to remove it.

A muted pop announced the arrival of who could only be Kreacher. “Lunch is being served,” was all the ancient house-elf said before disappearing with another muted pop.

Harry raised a head that felt too heavy for his neck muscles to lift and stared out the open bedroom door into the dark hallway.

Other than the distant bang and clang from whatever it was Kreacher was doing, 12 Grimmauld Place was silent.

For that, he had nobody to blame but himself.

Bill, Fleur and their 3 children went to France to celebrate the holiday with Fleur’s family.

Ron, Hermione and their children went to Australia to visit Hermione’s parents. Neither was sure for how long they would be gone. For up until a few years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were not aware they had a daughter named Hermione. Obliviating her existence from their minds and sending them out of the country was the only option she felt she had to keep her parents safe. After the war ended, Hermione went to search for them. What she found was a happy couple named Wendell and Monica Wilkins with a thriving practice and a new baby--a son named George. Not wanting to upset their happy, seemingly normal lives, Hermione returned to Britain without once having spoken to the people who had given her life. Besides, there had been no way to undo an _obliviate_ back then--at least not completely and accurately. Things changed when Hermione’s baby brother started to show magical abilities. Today, due to advancements--thanks in part to Hermione--in magical theory of the mind, the Wilkins had been able to regain their memories and thus their lives as Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione was still trying to convince them to return to England.

As for the rest of the Weasleys, Molly and Arthur were in Romania visiting Charlie who--for reasons Harry could not remember--couldn’t make it home for Christmas. George, Angelina and Fred II were in New Zealand visiting the Johnsons whom had relocated there when the war broke out. Percy, Audrey and their two little girls had decided to take a cruise. As for Ginny…

He messed up there.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, noting absently the day--or three--old growth, Harry sighed and reluctantly stood up.

Honestly, he did not have much of an appetite, but he hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before and while he may be feeling a little depressed, he was not so far gone that he would willingly starve himself to death.

Shoving his bare feet into a pair of house slippers that have seen better days, Harry shuffled out of the bedroom and made his way down the staircase.

If possible, Grimmauld Place was even more drab and depressing than it was on the upper levels of the house. There was even a collection of thick cobwebs above the kitchen door.

Coming back here had been a bad idea. The dreary atmosphere was doing nothing to improve his mood, but he’d had no other choice. Either it was here in a decaying townhouse or a hotel somewhere, and honestly, the idea of living out of a suitcase for an indeterminate amount of time was not very appealing. Besides, he would have zero privacy at a hotel. Given how little privacy he had on a normal day to day basis, if he were to rent a room--say at the Leaky Cauldron--now that his marital exploits were more important than the looming budget crisis wizarding Great Britain was facing, he would not have a nanosecond to himself. And the idea of staying in Muggle London was even less appealing.

So here he was; despite the fact that Grimmauld Place was literally falling down around him.

With a hand on the newel, Harry swung himself off the staircase and towards the kitchen where he could hear those bangs and clangs. Now he could even make out some low murmuring.

The usual relatively short trek to the kitchen took a little longer these days as it had become a bit of an obstacle course with the chunks of plaster everywhere. One had to be extra careful as one wrongly placed foot would cause Wulburga Black to start screaming her head off and he was not in the mood to deal with her.

What he would not give to just bombarda that damn painting off the wall; alas, the late Lady Black thought of that.

Poor Kreacher tried his best to keep the old place--relatively--clean, but he was not as young as he used to be. Besides, it would do no good. They just could not keep up with how fast Grimmauld Place was deteriorating. It was enough to make one wonder if the place had a hex or a curse of some sort placed over it. It would not surprise Harry in the least given the cases he had been working as of late. That was something he would have to talk to Bill about after the holidays.

When Harry stubbed his toes on a sharp chunk of wall, which went skidding across the floor into the far wall where it broke into pieces, he let out a sound curse at the painful throbbing that exploded in his foot. Then he cursed when, behind him, the curtains over Lady Black’s portrait flew open and the woman started on her volley of “blood-traitor” spiels.

Harry sighed. This was not an occurrence he had missed by any stretch of the imagination. Before he and Ginny moved in together, he lived here in Grimmauld Place where he learned how to deal with Lady Wulburga Black. His wand was in his hand with a flick of his wrist and then with a wave, the spew of vitriol was silenced as he cast a non-verbal silencio.

“Please do be quiet Lady Black. I am not in the best of moods right now and your nonsensical _crap_ is not helping.”

Harry strode forward and slammed the curtains closed over the painting, hiding the look of astonishment Wulburga Black was sporting. Such a rare feat had Harry smirking. Such a simple accomplishment uplifted his melancholy mood.

Returning his wand to its disillusioned holder strapped to his forearm, Harry confidently strode down the hall and down the three stairs into the kitchen, momentarily loosing his balance on the second step that had apparently come loose.

“Remind me to look for a contractor after the holidays Kreacher,” he said, staring over his shoulder at the offending stair as he pushed open the swinging door. One would definitely be needed whether or not Grimmauld Place was cursed. He could imagine the headlines if he were taken out by a mere chunk of falling plaster after having defeated the darkest Dark Lord of all time. “If we are to stay here for much longer-”

Harry stopped dead as his emerald gaze swung around and took in the figure occupying the brightly lit kitchen.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

Draco Malfoy rose from where he had been seated at the far end of the table. His golden locks were swept back off his forehead, revealing a receding hairline of which he adamantly denied the existence. Though eyes an almost gunmetal blue were riveted on Harry as Harry stood stunned just inside the kitchen door, Draco’s usual stoic expression was in place.

Harry spared Kreacher a glance, but the decrepit house-elf was nowhere to be seen suddenly.

“Happy Christmas Harry.”

Harry frowned at the sheaf of papers Draco produced. “What-?”

Draco merely thrust the papers at Harry.

Swinging his gaze from Draco to the papers and back, Harry tentatively crossed the kitchen towards him and hesitantly snatched the offered papers before retreating several steps. Carefully he unfolded them, his heart beating a rapid tattoo in his chest.

At first, Harry merely blinked at the words on the page.

“‘…BETWEEN Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy Petitioner AND Mrs. Astoria Greengrass Malfoy Respondent,’” Harry muttered aloud from the document, his brows furrowed in confusion. “’Referring to the decree made in this cause on the…whereby it was decreed that the marriage solemnized on the-’” With a gasp, Harry’s head swung up and around so fast it was a wonder he did not give himself whiplash. “Is this…? Are you…? I don‘t--What?”

Were someone to ask, Harry could not describe how he was feeling. The world felt as if it were swaying beneath his feet. He felt lightheaded and giddy, but he was also tempered. One must never jump to conclusions. Doing so could very well lead to heartbreak.

“When I first announced that I wanted a divorce, Astoria laughed. She was furious when she realized I was not joking as we had done in the past, but was in fact quite serious. That is just not done in high pureblood society. A wandering eye or a sexual appetite that cannot be satiated by the spouse is easily remedied by a paramour or two. It is a well-known fact that is not discussed. A marriage may end, but it does not _end_. She vowed to fight me every step of the way. In Astoria’s case, she was more worried about what would happen to her reputation than anything. It quickly became clear that contesting the divorce was futile. Instead, she vowed to take was ‘rightfully owed’ her. In her mind that meant the entire Malfoy fortune, but suffice it to say that she received nothing more than what she entered our marriage with plus a small pledge of spousal support until she remarried as well as one of the Malfoy properties in the Mediterranean. Of course,” Draco continued as he nonchalantly examined his newly manicured fingernails, “I may have failed to mention that said property has not been used in several centuries and very well might not even be standing anymore.”

Just as his legs were about to give out, Harry collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. “But--why? You said…”

“I know what I said. I was the one who said it.”

Harry scowled.

“But…” Here Draco faltered. Emotions flashed across his face too fast for Harry to decipher. “When you told me…When you said…” Draco growled softly in frustration. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words would not come out.

“This is real then?” Harry inquired in a soft tone, his eyes riveted on the document as if afraid it would vanish the instant he looked away. “You didn’t come here just to see how everything went all to cock then?”

An incredulous look flashed across Draco’s face. “I would never-!” One look at the expression on Harry’s face and Draco cut the protestation short. “Okay maybe I would,” he relented, “but not about this! Not with you!”

Harry carefully searched Draco’s face. A thrill of satisfaction rushed through him when he noticed how uncomfortable Draco was under the scrutiny. But he also saw the desperation leaking out from that normally stoic façade. “But why Draco?” he whispered. Not only was Harry immensely confused, and about a great many things, but he was also furious. How _dare_ Draco come waltzing back into his life as if nothing happened! “I don’t understand _what_ you are doing here or _what_ you hope to accomplish with this.” He tossed the divorce decree at Draco who caught it as it fluttered across the table. “You made it _perfectly clear_ you wanted _absolutely nothing_ to do with me. I poured out my heart to you and you just laughed at me,” he continued, raising his voice when Draco opened his mouth. “I left my _wife_ for you! The person I pledged myself to ten years ago! I broke her heart all because I fell in love with someone who thought I was good enough to fuck but not good enough to take home to Mummy and Daddy!” Angry tears streamed down Harry’s flushed face as he stared at Draco; he swept them away impatiently. Sometime during his rant, apparently, he had stood up, but he could not recall doing so. “I never felt more like an idiot in my entire life!”

The only sound was the drip-drip-drip of the leaky faucet and Harry’s harsh panting.

Clenching his hands into fists to keep from lashing out, Harry spun away from the man he had given everything up for, a man he had given his heart to only to have it thrown back in his face, and paced towards the sink. Gripping the chipped white porcelain, he stared out of the grime-covered window into the overgrown yard.

“I was--scared.”

“Oh please,” Harry sneered at the blond.

“I was,” Draco protested as he took a step around the table towards Harry. His forward movement was halted by the murderous look on Harry’s face. “Look,” he sighed. “I will admit that at first--you were more of a…”

“Conquest?” Harry finished.

Draco winced.

“Challenge?”

Draco cringed.

“Dare? Something to pass the time? Did you take the piss around the water cooler with your mates? Joking about how you banged the Boy Who Lived?”

“That is not fair,” Draco protested.

“Fair?” Harry’s laugh was harsh and brittle. “You’re standing there talking to me about _fairness_? _Life_ isn’t fair Draco! _You_ taught me that!”

“Look, I fucked up okay?”

Even through the shroud of anger, Harry was taken aback by Draco’s blatant usage of vulgarity. Draco never cursed--well, almost never; there was the occasional swear when he was frustration or when he banged his foot into a rock hidden in the undergrowth. He claimed cussing was too ostentatious. Hearing Draco eff and blind like that had the instantaneous affect of sapping Harry of his anger.

“My marriage had become stagnant,” Draco was saying. “At the time, I believed what I was looking for was a thrill. And truth be told-”

Harry found himself fascinated by Draco’s normally pale complexion turning rosy. He cocked his head to the side slightly, thinking how Draco was rather cute when he was blushing.

“I’d always had a-- _thing_ for you.”

Taken aback by the confession, Harry blinked at the blond haired aristocrat. “Really?” How had he never known that? You would think it would be obvious when someone likes you, but then again, he had been pretty blind to the fact that Ginny had had a crush on him years before he even noticed she was more than his best mate’s baby sister. Whereas Draco and he had been obsessed with one another off and on for their entire eight years at Hogwarts. Of course, obsession does not equate to being in love. Just look at old snake-face.

Turning his attention back to Draco, Harry noticed that the man seemed to be deliberately not looking at him. Instead, Draco gazed first at the peeling cheap laminate flooring, then at the cupboard whose door was hanging loose and finally passed Harry‘s shoulder out the window. Harry also noticed that his blush had deepened.

“I had long ago given up on there being anything other than enmity between us. After the war ended, I foolishly believed that we might be able to establish some sort of amity, but instead, it was as if I no longer existed.”

Other then when he’d spoken as a character witness for the Malfoys at the bevy of hearings and trials after the war, Harry hadn’t given any of the Malfoys--including Draco--a second thought. Not until that night at Romali.

“Therefore, I did the same. I sat my NEWTS, received my potions mastery, opened my apothecary and then married Astoria. Then one night, ten years--almost to the day--after I last saw you, you walked into the very bar where I sat in an attempt to forget my marital woes. And--”

“Being half pissed?” Harry teased lightly.

“I was not _pissed_ ,” Draco sneered as if he had gotten a whiff of something foul. “I had just had a few glasses of champagne by the time you arrived.”

Harry snorted. “Uh huh.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Draco continued, eying Harry with a glare that Harry saw right through, “I saw you enter the bar--and without the she-weasel--and instantly I was back at Hogwarts. Everything came rushing back. So, I decided to go for it.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “How very romantic,” he deadpanned.

“I was not looking for a romance,” Draco corrected.

“Just a warm body to fuck?” Harry snapped.

Draco recoiled from the harsh tone. Then sighed. “At that time? Yes. As I said, my marriage had become monotonous and I was looking for some excitement, some--validation.”

That need Harry could understand. It was the very reason why he strayed in the first place. One day, he woke up and realized that the woman he was sharing a townhouse with was not the same woman he said, “I do” to. She had become emotionally as well as physically distant. Sex, when it happened, was mind-blowing, but a relationship could not thrive on sex alone, especially when all they did was fight.

“I did not expect you to accept my invitation.”

With a sigh, Harry pushed away from the sink and slid back into the seat at the kitchen table he had vacated minutes earlier. “We’d--Ginny and I--had a fight.” He stared at his clasped hands on the tabletop. “She’d come home drunk off her ass and smelling of cigarette smoke and that cheap ass cologne Blaise bought you as an early Christmas present.”

Draco’s lip curled at the reminder of the repugnant smell that had enveloped the entire sitting room. The cap on the cologne bottle had been faulty, so when he went to take it out of the package it had come in, the contents had instead spewed everywhere. It has been a fortnight since then and the smell had only grown stronger.

“I confronted her and--things spiraled from there.” Sighing heavily, Harry sat back and raising his head, turned to look out the window above the sink. How he wished his line of sight was not obstructed. “I accused her of having an affair.” Harry gazed into those unreadable mesmerizing eyes that appeared bluer some days and gray others. At the moment, they were a stormy mixture. He wondered what Draco was thinking. “Ironic isn’t it?”

Pulling out the chair halfway between where he sat when he awaited Harry’s arrival and where Harry now sat, Draco lowered himself into it elegantly. His heart skipped a beat at the way Harry’s face lit up when his lips curled upwards in amusement at the haughtiness Draco displayed unconsciously. Clearing his throat, and adjusting his trousers, he said, “The accusation was justified. What are you to think when she is out at all hours of the night, coming home smelling of cologne neither you nor any of her known male companions wear, pissed, lying about where she has been and with whom?”

“I should have trusted her,” Harry shot back automatically.

That was the last thing Ginny said to him before she stormed out of the house.

“And _she_ should have trusted _you_ enough to tell you the truth, but she did not.”

Harry had to give Draco that one.

Combing his fingers through his hair, causing the raven locks to stick up every which way, Harry gazed unseeingly at a series of scratches on the table that vaguely resembled claw marks.

As it turned out, the accusation Harry levied against his wife that night turned out to be false. During her veritaserum confessional at their divorce pre-hearing the month before, Ginny had admitted to having remained faithful to Harry during the course of their marriage despite their marital problems. Though she had spent her free time club hopping and getting drunk at bars.

Instead of confronting their problems, she’d run from them. To be fair, he’d ignored the warning signs himself at the beginning. It was something Hermione told him that forced him to confront the disaster looming on the horizon.

_“It’s good to see you smiling again.”_

That was it.

That night, he’d gone home and waited for Ginny to come home. It ended up being the last time he’d done that. Ginny had stormed out and Harry had ended up at Romali and later in Draco’s bed.

Like Draco, Harry had wanted to feel loved and needed, wanted; he’d needed that validation same as Draco.

What he had not expected was to _fall_ in love.

Harry looked at the divorce decree sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.

Maybe it was the same for Draco? Hope swelled anew within Harry.

“When did you know you were in love with me?”

“That night,” Draco answered. Taken aback by how easily that came out, Draco blinked, surprised at himself. Seeing the smile blossom across Harry’s face, Draco tentatively reached across the table. When Harry made no move to withdraw, he covered Harry’s hand with his own. It was warm against his own cold one. His heart started racing when Harry turned his hand over and laced their fingers together. Lifting his gaze from their joined hands, Draco smiled across the table. “I had not expected or set out to fall in love,” he confessed. His voice was soft.

Harry gave the hand within his a gentle squeeze.

“But somewhere along the way, the one-off became--more.” Draco dropped his gaze to their hands briefly before meeting and holding Harry’s oh so green gaze. “I found in you what I once had with Astoria.”

Grinning, Harry stood up and leaning over the table, met Draco’s lips in a spine tingling kiss.

“I’m sorry Harry,” Draco said as he reluctantly pulled back. “I never meant-”

Harry cut him off with a shake of his head. “I get it. I do,” he insisted at the uncertain look on his lover’s face. And he did; all too well. “C’mon.” Straightening, Harry led Draco out of the kitchen and down the hall to the living room.

Draco gazed at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Really?”

Harry smirked as he pulled him over to the Christmas tree that sat surrounded by boxes of lights and ornaments.

“Unbelievable,” Draco grumbled. “Where is the makeup sex?”

Harry’s snickers morphed into full out laughter at the surprised look on Draco’s face when Harry pushed him onto the settee before the fireplace that burst to life without warning. “Right here,” he said as he lowered himself on his lover.

  
**…The End**   


  
 

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**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be out for Christmas, but we were forced to put my cat to sleep on Monday (23 December 2013) and I just haven’t had the energy or interest. I apologize if it seems rushed or there are any mistakes I might have missed. Thank you.


End file.
